Fault (part two of two)

Each day, Richard's father went to the roof to keep lookout. But he continued to deteriorate.

'Oh, oh, he’s in danger, I know it! And it’s down to me. I did send him away, after all. At least three-quarters of the blame, if not more. Say four to one against me. It is warm today. My nails need trimming. Oh, Richard, where are you, my son, my loved son? I am to blame almost entirely. He had to go to teach me this hard lesson. He had to. My fault. All my fault. Yes, all my fault. My responsibility. My error. I was too harsh with him, and drove him away. My hair is growing long, too. Like Nebuchadnezzar. I cannot stand this heat, this loneliness, this guilt. Entirely my fault. He was innocent! And the animals have broken into the grain store and our reserves are rapidly diminishing. I can’t remember why that’s bad… not as bad as I have been towards dear, sweet misunderstood Richard; I should suffer for it. He was without error or blemish…’ He raved in whispers, admonishing himself, weeping, tearing at his clothes, becoming more sad and confused each day.

Life in the fast lane was growing dangerous, as Richard had lost his handkerchief, all his money was gone and so were his ‘friends’ (Romans and countrymen alike), including one girl who distributed flowers and taken a fatal swim; another who refused to flatter her father and been misunderstood; and a third who was bitten by a snake while waiting for a servant to fetch asses’ milk.[1] The famine had struck.

‘I shall go to the countryside, and get a job in the agrarian economy. Perhaps animal husbandry…’

He found a post at a pig farm, and was looking after the thin, scrawny beasts as they rooted about among the rotting vegetation they were given. Such was his hunger, he was about to pick out the least mouldy pod; and that was when he came to his senses.

‘The hired men on my father’s farm eat well; I should lay aside my pride and return. The only reason I’m in this mess is because of my horrible attitude – it’s entirely my fault. So I shall arise and go home and say Make me one of your hired men. I am no longer worthy to be called your son.’ He got up and went back home.

Richard was still beyond the furthest hill, completely out of sight of the view his father had from the roof.

‘Completely my fault. I’m a wicked man and a bad father and a rubbish farmer. The only ones who eat well around here are the calves. I am not cut out for farm management, which has to include the maintenance and welfare of hired hands as well as animal husbandry.

‘I am totally to blame for my son’s bad ways. I deserve nothing. I deserve to be the dead one. At least then his inheritance (which he’s already had) will have been the right thing to do… I don’t deserve to live. My son is probably dead in the foreign land, due to the famine. I have nothing to live for. He’s totally lost, and it’s one hundred and ten percent down to me.’

Such was his loss of mental faculty, he wandered down the steps from the roof (nearly falling, twice), took a jar of oil from the shelf in the kitchen, and slopped it onto his hair and beard and clothes.

Such was his anguish at his own error (as he saw it) in raising such a tormented son, he stepped, purposefully, dangerously close to the fire, where the last of the hired men was roasting one of the fatted calves.

Such was his self-loathing and twisted judgement of himself, he deliberately allowed the flames to fed hungrily at his oil-soaked coat. Immediately his hair and beard and coat and tunic were ablaze. Despite the efforts of the hired man, Richard’s father’s misery and ravings were over surprisingly quickly (perhaps his heart failed?). His lifeless corpse lay smouldering in the dusty farmyard.

Three minutes later, Richard appeared over the horizon, walked slowly towards the farm, and readied himself to be humble before his father. The hired hand – frightened, scorched from his efforts to extinguish the suicide pyre of his Lord and Master, and confused at the disastrous timing – walked out to greet him. Their conversation was full of sadness, regret and of course, blame.

The villagers attended the funeral, and there was no rejoicing. Richard said at the wake ‘I was lost but now I have found that my father, who was alive, now is dead; and it’s all my fault.‘

[1] referring to famous Shakespearean tragedies: Ophelia (from Hamlet); Cordelia (from King Lear); Cleopatra (from Antony & Cleopatra)